


Until the Sun Goes Down

by andiheardeverything



Category: Glee
Genre: Cancer, I promise, M/M, No Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiheardeverything/pseuds/andiheardeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine is diagnosed with cancer, Kurt and their children learn what being a family truly means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for cancer, grief, and serious illness of a parent. No character death. Don't hesitate to message me with any concerns about reading.

The door squeaks open, a sliver of yellow light creeping into the room. Blaine blinks awake, aims his gaze at where Kurt’s face would be. It’s not there. 

“Daddy?” a timid voice and Blaine redirects his gaze a little lower. Ava stands nervously in the doorway, her small hands clutching a mug tightly. 

“Hey baby girl,” Blaine’s voice is rough, tired. He clears his throat. “You can turn on the light.” 

Ava reaches up and flicks on the light to the dimmest setting, just enough that he can see her blonde hair, wet from her bath, and her pink nightgown, the one Blaine had gotten her for her birthday last year. She carefully shuts the door behind her and pads across the room to stand beside Blaine’s bed.

“We had pizza for dinner,” she says, keeping her voice just above a whisper. 

“Did you?” Blaine asks, pushing himself up onto the pillows against the headboard. Ava nods. 

“Papa and I made it ourselves!” she says proudly and Blaine smiles at her. “I wanted to bring you some but papa said you weren’t feeling good today, so I brought you tea instead.” 

She holds up the mug, biting her lip as if nervous she did the wrong thing. Blaine takes the mug from her, the heat from the ceramic warming his cold fingers, inhales the steaming smell of peppermint. 

“It’s perfect,” Blaine says, as sincerely as he can. Ava perks up, looking pleased before her face falls. 

“I…” Ava pauses, looking from Blaine to the door. “Papa said you were tired and I shouldn’t bother you.”  

Blaine _is_ tired, he’s always tired, the too-familiar ache in his bones pulling him to the edge of sleep, his head throbbing, lungs not quite expanding right. But Ava’s looking up at him with her wide green eyes, so like Kurt’s, and he’s only seen her for her good morning kiss in three days and sometimes his daughter is more important than this _thing_ dragging him under. 

“I’m not too tired to hear about my beautiful baby’s day,” Blaine says, patting the bed beside him. Ava immediately scrambles up, careful not to jostle the bed too much as she curls up beside Blaine. 

“I’m not a baby,” she protests once she’s situated herself, her legs under the covers, her shoulder tucked under Blaine’s arm. “I’m almost seven.” 

“You’re right,” Blaine says with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to Ava’s head, breathing in the strawberry shampoo Kurt likes to buy her. “You’re practically an old lady.” 

“Daaaaaad,” Ava sighs with exaggerated exasperation. 

“Hmm,” Blaine hums in amusement, pulling Ava into him tightly. “So tell me about your day.” 

“We started learning the recorder today!” Ava exclaims, craning her neck to look up at Blaine, excitement shining in her eyes. “The teacher said I was a natural. But then stupid Billy stole my recorder and I got mad at him and we got put in time out and I cried because it wasn’t my fault!” 

Blaine rubs his hand over Ava’s shoulder when she sniffs. 

“I don’t know that I like the sound of this Billy guy,” Blaine says, stopping to cough into his elbow. “If he’s making my baby girl this upset.” 

Ava snuggles her head into Blaine’s shoulder. 

“He called my dress ugly yesterday,” she whispers. 

“I thought you looked especially beautiful yesterday,” Blaine whispers back, letting his head rest back against the pillows. His eyes feel so _heavy_ and his body weighted with exhaustion just from this and he would scream in frustration if he had the energy. 

“Are you tired daddy?” Ava sounds concerned. Blaine doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t think he actually can right now, just lets his cheek rest against the top of Ava’s head. 

“Just a little,” Blaine murmurs, lets his thumb rub a circle into Ava’s arm. “Would you stay with me a little longer? I promise I won’t tell papa.” 

Ava nods against him, pulls the covers up around them and touches a kiss against Blaine’s cheek.

“How did you get to be such a wonderful girl?” Blaine asks and Ava squirms against him. Normally this would be when Blaine declares a tickle war, tackling Ava and tickling her mercilessly as she shrieks and laughs under him. Kurt would watch and shake his head and Blaine would smile sheepishly, scooping Ava up into his arms and carrying her into her room where he’d tuck her in with a kiss and a bedtime story while Kurt wrestles Oliver into the bath. Now, all Blaine can do is hold Ava closer and fight the sleep that threatens to take over. 

“Daddy?” Ava asks after a moment of silence. Blaine hums for her to continue. “I heard Papa talking to grandpa on the phone today. He said that you mestaticked. What does that mean?” 

Blaine cracks his eyes open, sees Ava looking up at him, tears welling in her eyes. He presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Metastasized,” he corrects. “It means that what’s making me sick spread to another part of my body.” 

“But they’re still giving you medicine right? They’re going to make it go away?” Ava’s voice wavers at the end and Blaine’s heart tightens in his chest. 

“Yeah baby, they’re trying.” 

Ava sniffs and wraps her arms around Blaine as far as they’ll go. 

“I don’t want you to be sick anymore, Daddy,” Ava mutters into his shirt. “Mrs. Larson keeps sending us raisin bread and it’s yucky but Papa makes me eat it. And Sarah says her uncle had cancer and he…” Ava’s voice chokes and Blaine can feel his shirt growing wet. “She said he died.” 

“Don’t cry, beautiful,” Blaine whispers into her hair, holding her tight. “It’ll be okay.” 

Ava just shakes her head and cries harder. 

“You’re the bravest girl I know and you need to be strong for papa and Oliver, okay? Can you do that?” 

Ava nods, answers with a watery _yeah_ and Blaine lets his eyes slide shut again. He can feel exhaustion pulling at him and it _hurts_ that he can’t even properly comfort his daughter. 

_Hush little baby, don’t say a word._

_Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird._

_And if that mockingbird won’t sing,_

_Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring._

_And if that diamond ring don’t shine_

_Papa’s gonna buy you…_

Blaine sings softly, voice trailing off as fatigue claims him, his lungs refusing to let in enough air. Ava’s too old for that song, she’s made that pointedly clear many times, but she doesn’t say anything, not this time. Blaine can feel her relaxing against him, her small body sinking into the pillows, her breath evening out. 

“I love you, baby girl,” Blaine whispers into Ava’s hair and lets sleep take over. 

-

Kurt sighs with relief, Oliver finally situated under the covers and in bed. He’s sure there’s never been a three year old less willing to go to bed than their son. Sleep tugs at him as he makes his way into the living room, ready to shoo Ava off to bed next. He’d been planning on catching up on the housework today after Ava and Oliver were in bed, but it’s been a busy week between work and the kids and the disappointment at Blaine’s doctor’s appointment and dishes had piled up, laundry still waiting to be folded, a layer of dust coating the bookshelves. It can wait another day, Kurt justifies. He’s too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to worry about it tonight. 

Ava isn’t in the living room, her dolls still strewn over the floor. Kurt frowns when he sees the door to their bedroom cracked slightly open, knows Blaine was having a bad day today and needs his rest. 

“Ava?” he calls softly as he pushes the door open, stops at the sight that greets him. The light in the bedroom is on, dimly illuminating the two bodies curled around each other in the bed. Ava is tucked against Blaine’s side, her head nestled perfectly in his shoulder. Blaine’s cheek is pressed against her hair, blonde strands fluttering with each of Blaine’s exhales. 

Kurt smiles as he sits gingerly on the side of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Blaine’s calf. Ava used to sleep with them before Blaine got sick, snuggling right in between them, her small hands holding each of theirs. Kurt can hear her now, sometimes, crying herself to sleep, wishes more than anything he could carry her into their room and protect her. But he can’t. It’s not safe for Blaine, not when Ava spends all day surrounded by kids and germs and who knows what else. 

“Hey turnip,” Kurt says softly, running his fingers over to Ava’s arm. She stirs slightly, nuzzling in closer to Blaine. 

“Sweetie,” Kurt tries again, leaning over to press a kiss to her head. “It’s time for bed.” 

“Can’t I sleep with you?” She pleads, opening her eyes. Blaine blinks awake from the noise, eyes glazed and tired. Kurt’s heart sinks and not for the first time today he wonders how life became so unfair. 

“I’m sorry sweetie,” Kurt says, voice sincere as he cards a hand through her hair. “Why don’t you give Daddy a good night kiss and I’ll carry you to your bed, okay?” 

Ava sniffs, eyes welling up with tears as she nods and presses her lips to Blaine’s cheek. Blaine wraps her into a loose hug and kisses her cheek back. 

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, daddy,” she says as Kurt scoops her up in his arms. She wraps her arms around Kurt’s neck as he carries her into her room. She’s practically asleep by the time he pulls back her covers and tucks her in, pressing his own kiss to her forehead. 

“I miss Daddy’s bedtime stories,” she mumbles, looking up at Kurt with big green eyes. 

“I know you do,” Kurt says, running his hand comfortingly over her arm. “I do too. Maybe when he feels a little better he can tell you one, okay?” 

Ava nods, eyes fluttering shut and she clutches her stuffed bear close. 

“I hope he feels better soon,” she whispers quietly. Kurt stands and touches another kiss into her hair. 

“I hope so too. Now try and sleep.” 

 

Blaine’s already asleep when Kurt finally slides into bed. He ignores the hot press of tears behind his eyes as he wraps his arms around Blaine, pulls him close. Blaine shifts slightly, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as Kurt presses his lips just below Blaine’s ear. 

“I love you so much.” 

Blaine just breathes, a slow inhale and exhale, his heart pumping against Kurt’s chest. Still alive. Still fighting. 

“I love you.” 

-

A week later and Kurt is ready to scream. Blaine’s test results had come in the mail, along with a new stack of bills, Oliver’s preschool teachers keep calling in concern about his behavior, Ava won’t stop wearing black, and deadlines for work are swiftly approaching. Kurt’s not sure how other parents manage, but he’s pretty sure he’s about ready to collapse from exhaustion. 

Except the dishes still haven’t been done. 

He texts Shannon, the babysitter, and explains that he’s going to be a few minutes late. She reassures him and tells him to take his time, everyone is fine. Kurt is pretty sure that Shannon is actually a saint, always happy to stay late or make dinner or wrestle Oliver into the bathtub. Today Kurt has to stop by the store to pick up more laundry detergent, some thread to sew up the hole Oliver ripped in his jacket yesterday, and refill a few of Blaine’s prescriptions. His feet feel like they’re dragging and as guilty as it makes him feel, he doesn’t really want to go home. 

Home means cooking the kids dinner, trying to get Ava to do her homework, calming down Oliver’s endless energy, doing long-overdue housework, calling the insurance companies _again_ , and watching his husband struggle through the simple act of being alive. Home is warm and safe and loved, but it’s also painful. And right now, Kurt just wants to sleep. 

It’s dark when he finally gets home, the sun just dipping behind the horizon, and he frowns at the empty spot in the driveway where Shannon’s car should be. Maybe she ran out with the kids to get groceries? 

“Hello?” Kurt calls when he enters the house, flipping on the entryway lights. The coats are all hung on the coat rack, the shoes organized in neat lines. He raises an eyebrow as he sets down his bags to take off his own jacket before making his way into the living room.

“Shannon?” 

Worry starts to tug his stomach when silence greets him, the house eerily dark. Did something happen with Blaine? Shannon would have called him if they were at the hospital, right? 

He’s about to pull out his cell phone when the light flicks on, two small bodies charging at him.

“Surprise!” Ava and Oliver shout in unison as they collide with Kurt. There are streamers taped to the walls, _Happy Birthday_ hanging across the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Oh my goodness,” Kurt exclaims, hugging both Oliver and Ava too him. Ava wiggles excitedly. 

“Did we scare you?” 

“I…” Kurt starts, stops. Blaine is sitting at the dining room table, looking pale and exhausted, but smiling widely. “I forgot it was my birthday.” 

Oliver giggles against him. 

“You can’t forget your birfday,” he says and Ava laughs. 

“Good thing Daddy planned this!” Ava says, looking back to Blaine with wide, happy eyes. “Right Daddy?” 

“Only your papa would forget his own birthday,” Blaine responds with a smile, winking at Kurt. Kurt feels his heart wrench, everything seeming so _normal_ for moment. Like before. 

“Thank you so much,” Kurt says, leaning over to press a kiss to Ava’s head and scooping Oliver up in his arms. 

“We made you cake!” Oliver says, wrapping his small arms around Kurt. 

“Did you? What kind?” 

“Chocolate!” Oliver proclaims proudly. 

“Oooh, my favorite,” Kurt smiles, ruffles Oliver’s curly hair. Oliver wiggles and Kurt sets him down, lips pursing as he moves over to Blaine. 

“I let Shannon go home early,” Blaine explains, pulling Oliver close to his side. His voice is thin and he sounds slightly out of breath. “Ava and Oliver helped me clean the house for you.” 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, knows how he sounds with the way Blaine is looking at him. Pleading. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

Blaine smiles. “It’s your birthday.” 

“Thank you,” Kurt whispers, kneels down to press his lips to Blaine’s. Blaine hums back. 

“Eww!” Ava shrieks behind them. “Gross!”

“Gross!” Oliver echoes and Kurt rolls his eyes. 

There’s a pizza waiting to be put in the oven and Kurt cooks a quick dinner, admiring the spotless kitchen, Oliver coloring at the table, Ava never leaving Blaine’s side, chattering away. Kurt watches in concern as Blaine’s eyes flutter closed, his head falling back to rest against the wall. 

“You shouldn’t be up,” Kurt says softly as he brings plates of pizza over for all of them. Blaine blinks, looks at Kurt through heavily lidded eyes.

“I want to be,” Blaine says, reaching his hand out to give Kurt’s a squeeze. Worry still knots in his stomach but he lets it go, for now, tucking a napkin into Oliver’s shirt and cutting his pizza into small bites.

Ava chats excitedly about her days as she eats her pizza, Oliver dropping more of it on his lap than he gets in his mouth. Blaine picks at his piece, takes an experimental bite when he sees Kurt watching him. His lips turn down as he chews, forces himself to swallow and sets his pizza down gingerly, offering Kurt a sad smile. 

“I’ll get the cake,” he says and Oliver squeals, Kurt opening his mouth to protest. Blaine cuts him off with a look before he can say anything, and Kurt can see how important this is to Blaine, how he _needs_ to be able to do this. Blaine walks slowly, limping in his walking cast, biting his lip with every step and Kurt has to steel his jaw to not say anything, turns his attention back to Oliver, grabbing a napkin to wipe the pizza sauce from their son’s chin. 

“Has Daddy got better?” Oliver asks when Blaine disappears into the kitchen. Kurt pauses his motions, takes in Oliver’s wide eyes, imploring and hopeful in the way only a three-year-old can be. 

“Not yet, Oliver.” Kurt continues cleaning Oliver’s face. “He hasn’t gotten better yet.” 

“Oh,” Oliver says, looking down at his hands. “But… he made cake wif me!” 

“Shut up, Oliver,” Ava says suddenly, looking grumpy. “Daddy’s never getting better.” 

Oliver’s chin wobbles as he sniffs. “Is that true, Papa?” 

Kurt closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. 

“Don’t use that language, Ava,” he reprimands and Ava avoids his eyes guiltily. 

“Sorry.” 

Kurt sighs, gets out of his chair to kneel between the two of them. He presses a kiss to Ava’s cheek, then Oliver’s. 

“Daddy’s trying very hard to get better for us, okay? He loves both of you very much. What matters right now is that we give him as much help as we can and stay a family. Can we do that?” 

Ava and Oliver nod, and Kurt hopes with everything in him that that’s enough. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s not. 

“I’m going to go see how Daddy’s doing with the cake now.”

Oliver perks up again at the mention of cake and Kurt stands, ruffling his hair as he turns the corner to the kitchen. Blaine’s leaning against the counter, the weight transferred off his right leg, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is strained, wobbly and Kurt pauses, frowns.

“Sorry for what?” 

Blaine looks over to him. “I heard you talking to the kids. I’m letting you all down.” 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, takes Blaine’s hands gingerly in his own. “Why would you think that?” 

“Because, I can’t be a father to them,” Blaine says quietly, his shoulders hunching in on himself. “And I can’t be a husband to you.” 

Kurt takes Blaine into his arms, his husband’s frail body practically collapsing against him, rubs a comforting hand on his back. 

“You _are_ both of those things, Blaine,” Kurt reassures, voice soft. “The kids and I love you more than anything. We just want you to focus on getting better.” 

“But I’m not.” Blaine’s words are said into Kurt’s shirt, muffled. “You know I’m not.” 

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, holds Blaine closer, feels his heart beating against his chest. 

“You’re tired,” he says after a moment, Blaine’s loose body against his an affirmation. There’s a noise from the doorway, a small body looking at them expectantly. 

“Are we having cake?” Ava asks timidly. 

“Yeah, turnip,” Kurt manages a smile. “Daddy just needs some rest now, so I’ll help him out for a minute and then we’ll have cake, sound good?”

Ava nods. “Can I give Daddy a goodnight hug?” 

Kurt nods and Ava rushes to wrap herself around Blaine. Blaine strokes a hand through her hair, leans down to plant a kiss on her forehead. 

“Will you dance with Papa for me tonight?” he asks and Ava nods enthusiastically. “I knew I could count on you.” 

Blaine gives Oliver a kiss as Kurt helps him back to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and struggling to catch his breath. There are so many things Kurt wants to say, wants to reprimand Blaine for wearing himself out, wants to make him promise to never do it again, to only focus on resting and getting better, because he _has_ to get better, and how can he if he’s always making himself to tired? But he doesn’t, just helps Blaine adjust the blankets around him, situates the pillow propping up his bad leg, the one under his head, runs his thumb across his cheek. 

“I wanted to give you birthday sex,” Blaine mumbles with a pout, blinks sleepily up at Kurt. Kurt chuckles softly, feels an ache in his heart because he can’t even remember the last time they did do anything more intimate than a short lived makeout and bedtime cuddling. 

“Raincheck,” Kurt says, leans down to press a kiss to Blaine’s lips. 

“Hmm, tomorrow night?” Blaine’s words are fading, eyes sliding shut, any energy reserves he had completely emptied. 

“Tomorrow,” Kurt agrees sadly, knows it’s an empty promise, but it’s nice to pretend. 

“Happy Birthday,” Blaine whispers, drifting into sleep. Kurt pauses, touches another kiss to Blaine’s cheek before making sure Blaine’s water and pills are within reach, turns the bedside lamp on the dimmest setting, makes his way back to the door. He pauses a second to breathe, wipes away the dampness at his eyes, forces a smile onto his face before heading back into the kitchen.

“Who’s ready for cake?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for sexual content, cancer, grief, and serious illness of a parent. don't hesitate to message me with any concerns about reading.

The moon streams milky through the windows, bathing the room in cool, silver light. Kurt stares at his hands, thinks they look almost translucent, the gold of his wedding band gleaming stark against his skin. He touches it and it feels cool, heavy on his finger in a way it hasn’t before. 

“Hey,” Blaine’s voice is rough, just surfacing out of that point between sleep and awareness that he’s been spending so long in. “Th’kids in bed?” The words are mumbled, sleepy and he lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, blinks up at Kurt. A line from his pillow indents his cheek and Kurt lets his lips twitch into a tiny smile, reaches forward to trace his thumb across it. 

“Yeah, they were pretty tired after their first day of summer camp,” Kurt says, his voice soft, somehow not wanting to break the stillness of the night. Blaine’s face pulls, distressed.

“That was today?” He sounds disappointed, and Kurt knows how much Blaine wanted to be there for that, how every year before he’s made a special point of making pancakes and packing lunch, of picking Ava up after and taking them out for ice cream and letting her talk his ear off about every second of her day. This year is Oliver’s first year joining Ava and he’d been so excited, and Kurt doesn’t have the heart to tell Blaine how today was the first day in a long time that their children actually looked _happy_ , that they’d eagerly run out the front door without a second glance back to the the bedroom Blaine had been lost inside. 

“That was today,” Kurt confirms, watches as Blaine squeezes his eyes shut again, draws in a sharp breath through his nose. Kurt feels a twinge of guilt, glances back down at his wedding band, twirls it around on his finger. He sees Ava’s smiling face, the excited way Oliver had stumbled over his words to tell Kurt all about his day, how Kurt had purposefully held back from mentioning Blaine to them, how neither of them had said anything either, how Blaine’s absence in their lives is already so normal they didn’t even notice. How Kurt felt that a day without a reminder was actually good for them, that it had been so long since he’d seen them so happy and he didn’t want to lose that, not today. 

“I wanted-” Blaine starts, cuts himself off with a shake of his head. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, focuses on breathing and Kurt knows how upset he’s been lately, about missing out on their kids’ lives. 

Kurt doesn’t say anything, just sits quietly on the edge of the bed, doesn’t know what else there is to say that hasn’t already been said, doesn’t know any words of comfort that they both would know isn’t a lie. He just listens as Blaine breathes, as Blaine’s hand reaches down to search for Kurt’s. 

“Tomorrow,” Blaine says, and the word sounds like a resolve. “I’ll see them tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Kurt doesn’t have the heart to do anything but agree, twines their fingers together. Blaine’s wedding band is gone, his fingers too thin for it to stay in place anymore, and Kurt knows it’s nestled securely in their bedside table but he still misses the feel of it when they hold hands, the way the metal had seemed so much warmer than his own. Now it sits cold at the bottom of a drawer. 

Blaine shifts, shrugs himself up so his head is propped against the headboard, his hand tugging Kurt’s.

“Sit with me?” There’s a note to his voice that forms a lump in Kurt’s throat, almost as if he’s unsure, doesn’t know what Kurt’s response will be. Kurt crawls over the bed, props up a few pillows and settles himself in beside Blaine, feels the warm weight of his husband against him. 

“-m sorry,” Blaine murmurs, his head resting against Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt shushes him, presses his lips to the top of Blaine’s head.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” 

Blaine makes a noise that sounds like protest but doesn’t say anything else and Kurt is grateful, there are only so many words that can be said and conversation becomes exhausting, pointless. There’s a moment of still, quiet, before shuffling, Blaine moving beside him. Lips press against Kurt’s neck softly, gentle kisses that trace down to his collar bone and Kurt sucks in a breath, his skin tingling in the wake of Blaine’s lips. 

“Blaine,” he whispers, feels something twisting inside him when Blaine sucks gently at the curve of his neck, when Blaine’s hand drifts across to cup Kurt’s waist, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. His heart speeds up, drumming an excited rhythm in his chest, a want, _need_ , spreading through his body and he turns his head, captures Blaine’s lips in a kiss, his hand reaching to anchor Blaine’s against his waist. 

It’s slow, a little unsure, but it’s been so _long_ since they’ve done anything like this and Kurt’s hands shake as he lets his tongue trace the seam of Blaine’s lips, deepens the kiss and tries not to think about what it means. He knows Blaine’s been quieter lately, he’s been sleeping more, barely awake enough to get up for the bathroom, his food untouched, sits through his treatments with glazed eyes, and a part of Kurt knows it’s only a matter of time. He can’t go on like this forever, it’s worn him to the bone and soon there will be nothing left except faded pictures and empty hearts. 

He holds Blaine closer, fingers digging desperately into his sides and Blaine falls into him, their chests flush as Kurt pulls him in, bites ever so softly at Blaine’s bottom lip. Blaine makes a tiny noise in his throat and Kurt winds the kisses across his jaw, down his neck, feels the fluttering of Blaine’s pulse under his lips. 

“Please,” Blaine whispers, his hands clinging desperately to Kurt’s arms, his eyes wide and cheeks pink. Kurt doesn’t say anything, just tugs Blaine down on the bed so his head is resting on the pillow, takes care to straddle over him without bumping his bad leg, takes an extra moment to kiss him from this angle, Blaine’s neck arching up to reach Kurt’s lip, their breaths getting heavier and heavier and the moment feels so sacred, so fragile, that Kurt doesn’t dare stop, doesn’t speak or blink or do anything that might make it break around them. 

Slipping careful fingers under the elastic of Blaine’s pajamas, he inches them down, feels himself already achingly hard, and god, it’s been so _long_ and there’s a pull inside Kurt that yearns for it. That _needs_ it, needs this closeness to Blaine, to feel him vibrant and alive under him. 

Blaine’s still soft, but Kurt doesn’t mind, knows these things take time now, lets his fingers stroke down the crease of Blaine’s hips, feels the muscles of Blaine’s stomach tighten under his touch. He brushes his lips to Blaine’s cock, feels it stir weakly with interest, glances up to see Blaine’s face scrunched up in concentration, fingers digging into the blankets around him. 

“Relax,” Kurt murmurs, trails his hand down Blaine’s legs, thumbs rubbing a soothing circle. He feels the muscles loosen under his hand, feels Blaine sinking further into the mattress, feels Blaine’s cock start to slowly fill as he takes it in his mouth. 

A small gasp as Blaine’s breath hitches, hips arching up but there’s no strength in it, just a small desperate movement. Kurt glances up, sees Blaine’s skin glowing in the moonlight, his head thrust back, exposing the long line of his throat and Kurt can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. And he knows he’s not the only one who needs this. 

He pulls away for a moment, Blaine’s chest already starting to heave and Kurt’s worried about overwhelming him, this territory so familiar and yet so changed, he wants to make sure it’s okay. That Blaine’s okay. He crawls his way back up; Blaine’s eyes are closed and his face smooth as Kurt kisses him, lips more desperate this time, searching for something out of sight. 

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, his hands gripping at Kurt’s shoulders, fabric bunching under his fingers. Kurt rolls his hips down, bites his lip against a groan as something hot, electric twists inside of him, sends a spark through his body. He rolls his hips again, never too rough, nothing like desperate lovemaking of their twenties, the fabric of Kurt’s pajamas still separating them, but Kurt buries his face in the curve of Blaine’s neck anyways, Blaine’s hands sliding up to splay across his back, holding him close. 

He feels it building with each breath Blaine takes loud in his ear, with Blaine so solid and real beneath him, the heat from his skin warming Kurt’s body, with the tiny groan he makes when Kurt rolls his hips, the way Kurt can hear his name stuttering from Blaine’s lips. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” Kurt whispers, his words muffled against Blaine’s skin. Blaine’s fingers dig into his back. 

“You won’t,” Blaine breathes back, tries to arch his hips up as best as he can. “Not today.” 

Eyes squeeze shut and an involuntary sob chokes from Kurt’s throat as he comes, the suddenness of it taking him by surprise. He wilts down against Blaine, his eyes damp, heart drumming, Blaine’s fingers stroking through his hair. He takes a moment to collect himself, to fill his lungs with air and empty them again, to wipe away the tears that refuse to stop falling, to ignore the way his skin feels jittery, like he’s had too much caffeine. 

He takes a moment and then looks down, Blaine’s soft, his body still. 

“Did you,” Kurt starts, glancing back up at Blaine. Blaine offers him a small smile but Kurt thinks it looks sad, shakes his head. 

“I’ll-” Kurt starts, blinks to clear his head but he feels shaky, reaches down to take Blaine in his hand, tries to bring him back to where he was before, but Blaine stays soft, stays still.

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice is soft, a hand reaching to lightly touch Kurt’s cheek. “I don’t think I can.” 

Kurt lets go, feels the tears flooding up to blur his vision, lets his cheek rest in Blaine’s hand. 

“Okay,” Kurt whispers, tries to gain control over himself. “Okay.” He shakes his head, sits back up, wipes off his cheeks with his shirt sleeves, feels Blaine’s gaze on him. “I should get cleaned up.” The words are nothing more than a statement and he stands, moves away from the bed, shuffles through his dresser to pull out a fresh pair of pajama pants, disappears into their small adjoined bathroom. He takes his time, splashes his face with water, changes his clothes, brushes his teeth. He can’t shake the jittery feeling from his skin, the way his blood is still pulsing too fast in his veins, the way his emotions seem to be swelling like a tide, overwhelming and retreating, rocking him like a boat without it’s anchor.

Blaine’s sitting up when he reenters the bedroom, perched on the edge of the bed, his eyebrows drawn down in concern. 

“You’re upset,” he says, doesn’t leave room for Kurt to argue because he knows. Blaine always knows how Kurt’s feeling, can read Kurt where no one else can. Kurt sits beside Blaine, the bed dipping and their knees knocking together.

“Not at you,” Kurt says, looks down at his hands. “Just at… everything else.” 

Blaine’s lips form a thin line and he laces his fingers through Kurt’s, holds his hand tight. Kurt draws him close until Blaine’s head rests on Kurt’s shoulder.

“You smell nice,” Blaine murmurs, nuzzles his nose against Kurt and Kurt lets out a laugh, strokes his hand down Blaine’s back. 

“I always smell nice,” Kurt quips back, feels Blaine sinking against him. 

“They should make a cologne,” Blaine says, his voice sleepy. “Eau de Kurt.” 

Kurt laughs again, feels some of the pressure in his chest lessen, the tide easing out. “Yes, the tantalizing scent of coffee and small children.” 

“I happen to like both of those things,” Blaine says, shifts his head up to look at Kurt. 

“As you should,” Kurt responds, presses a quick kiss to Blaine’s forehead before scooting back so they can both lay down. He can see the way Blaine winces as he maneuvers his leg onto the bed, but he bites his lip, doesn’t say anything, the moment already so fragile and he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“Love you forever,” Blaine murmurs once he’s tucked under the covers, his eyes already slipping closed. 

“Like you for always,” Kurt responds, his pinkie intertwined with Blaine’s as the night settles around them, only the moon watching as they drift into dreams happier than reality.


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine can hear Oliver crying, the sound muffled through the closed door. A glance at the clock reveals its nearly one in the morning, and Blaine shakes his head, tries to clear the fog of sleep. He pushes himself up, his whole body aching, protesting the movement, and looks over at Kurt. He’s still fast asleep, curled under the blankets, head burrowed under a pillow. It’s odd, Blaine notes, Kurt’s usually a light sleeper, always waking the slightest noise from the kids, the wrong movement from Blaine. He must be exhausted; Blaine tries to think back to yesterday, remembers how Kurt had collapsed in bed barely after nine o’clock, eyes shadowed from a week lasting too long. 

Blaine slips out of bed, knows Kurt will yell at him later, but Kurt needs his sleep too, and that’s all Blaine does anymore. Sleep and sleep and life is passing him by, Kurt turned 33 last week and how did that even happen, his kids are getting taller, wiser, changing and he’s spent it sleeping. He figures one night won’t kill him, not yet at least, and Kurt _does_ need his sleep, he’s wearing himself to the bone, practically a single parent and the thought sits heavy in Blaine’s chest. 

He limps his way out of their bedroom, his bad leg heavy and clumsy, down the short distance to Oliver’s room. The door is cracked open and Blaine can see Oliver on the floor beside his bed, his tiny three-year-old body curled up in a ball, clutching the stuffed rabbit they’d gotten for him when he was barely four months old. 

“What’s wrong, little man?” Blaine keeps his voice gentle, Oliver blinking up at him, confused. Blaine knows what’s wrong as soon as he steps in the room, can smell it, can see the damp sheets in a tangle on Oliver’s bed.

“I had a acc’dent,” Oliver mumbles, his small shoulders quivering with the weight of his tears. 

“Did you have a scary dream?” Blaine asks, tries not to get too worried but it’s been months since Oliver last wet the bed and he thought this was something they wouldn’t have to worry about anymore. He digs through the small dresser by the bed and finds a clean pair of pajamas, shuffles over to sit next to Oliver on the floor. 

Oliver nods and sniffs, lets Blaine help change him into new clothes and a pair of pull-ups, the soiled ones tossed into a corner of the room. 

“Come here,” Blaine motions to his lap, closes his eyes to the comfortable weight of his son in his lap, tries to remember the last time he just held either of his children like this, tries to remember the last time he was out of bed for more than a handful of minutes at a time. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Blaine asks, strokes his hand through Oliver’s unruly hair, feels Oliver snuggle in even closer to him. 

“No,” Oliver whispers, and Blaine can tell he’s clearly still scared, shaken by whatever it is that he dreamed. 

“That’s okay,” Blaine reassures, leans down to press a kiss to the top of Oliver’s head. “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

Oliver stays quiet, clings to Blaine’s shirt and Blaine just rocks him, hums a simple melody, tries to ignore how tired he feels, oppressive weight of sleep creeping into him, fogging his mind and blurring his vision. 

“Let’s get you back into bed, okay monkey?” Blaine knows he needs to do this now, get everything ready for Oliver before he looses anymore energy and ends up being completely useless. Oliver nods and slides himself out of Blaine’s lap, stands awkwardly to the side and clutches his rabbit, watches Blaine pull himself up, limp to the closet to pull out a fresh set of sheets, struggle to take off the soiled ones, throwing them in the same corner as the pajamas. He’s out of breath as he tucks the new sheets onto the bed, can feel sweat gathering at his brow, on his back, and he wonders when he became so essentially useless as a father. 

_Stop that_ , he thinks, knows Kurt would be upset about him having such thoughts. _Not right now._

He turns around, sees Oliver watching him with a thumb in his mouth, rabbit hanging from his arms, eyes sleepy. 

“Good as new,” Blaine says, smiles and lets himself fall back into Oliver’s bed, Oliver climbing in beside him. Blaine tucks the covers around them, and there’s barely enough room in Oliver’s tiny bed but they make sure that Mr. Rabbit has his own spot on the pillow, Oliver curling into Blaine’s arms. Blaine presses a kiss into Oliver’s hair, breathes in the scent of the L’Oreal shampoo that Kurt hates but Oliver loves. 

“Will Papa be mad?” Oliver whispers, looks up at Blaine with concerned eyes. 

“Why would Papa be mad?” Blaine asks, strokes a hand through tangled hair. Oliver bites his lip. 

“‘Cause I have germs,” Oliver answers, eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I don’t wanna give you my germs.” 

“You won’t give me your germs,” Blaine says, leans forward to nuzzle Oliver’s forehead and Oliver laughs, squirms away. “Papa just gets worried about me sometimes.” 

“‘Cause you’re sick,” Oliver says, matter of fact, and this time Blaine feels his eyes sting with tears. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft. “Now, someone has a busy day at summer camp tomorrow and needs to get his sleep.” 

Oliver nods, eyes already slipping closed, his hand still clutching at Blaine’s shirt. He falls asleep with his mouth slightly open, long lashes brushing his cheeks, and Blaine’s not long to follow.

-

Kurt wakes up to his alarm, glances blearily at the clock and groans. It’s 6:45 and he’s starting to regret putting the kids in summer camp, if only so that he could have one day to sleep in. He stretches, looks at the bed beside him. The very empty bed. He frowns, tries to remember the last time Blaine was up before him. It’s happened a few times and he forces himself to quell the worry that rises up in him, tells himself that Blaine probably just couldn’t sleep, is up watching TV or taking a bath. 

He slips out of bed, the hardwood floor warm with the heat of early summer, makes his way into the hall. The rest of the house is silent and dark, the TV off and the bathroom empty. He peeks in Ava’s room; she’s sleeping sprawled across her bed, her hair a tangled mess and Kurt smiles, decides to let her have a few more minutes. Oliver’s room is next, the door already cracked open, the light of his Peter Pan nightlight sending a soft glow into the hall. 

Kurt steps inside, sees sheets and pajamas piled in the corner, a lump too big to be Oliver under the covers. A smile pulls at his lips as he steps forward, his husband snoring softly under a robot comforter, Oliver tucked against him, his soft blond curls brushing Blaine’s chin. 

Kurt sits on the edge of the bed, his weight making it dip slightly and Blaine stirs, an eye blinking open, heavy with sleep. 

“Morning, honey,” Kurt whispers and Blaine hums, shifts his shoulders and Oliver flops, over his face scrunched up.

“Morning,” Blaine says, voice husky. He licks his lips, lifts his head up and looks around before letting it fall back against the pillow. “Oliver wet the bed,” Blaine says after a moment, watching as Kurt runs his fingers over Oliver’s forehead. “Sorry I,” clears his throat, “I didn’t get them in the wash.” 

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, and it really is, sheets and laundry and little things like that don’t matter, not when he still gets to wake up to his husband and his son looking so perfectly content. “I can get them later.” 

He leans over Oliver’s tiny three-year-old body and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips, feels Oliver stir under him. 

“Good morning, sleepy,” Kurt says, voice quiet, rubs at Oliver’s shoulder as he blinks awake. He glances between Kurt and Blaine, obviously confused and holds his rabbit even closer. “We gotta get up now.” 

Oliver blinks, presses himself closer to Blaine and it almost hurts to watch, Kurt knows how much the kids have missed him lately, how much one night like this means to Oliver. 

“Can Daddy and I have Lucky Charms?” Oliver asks, looking up at Blaine questioningly. Blaine smiles even though Kurt can still see how tired he is, the rings under his eyes. 

“I love Lucky Charms,” Blaine says, wrestling Oliver out of bed. “But only if you brush your teeth and get dressed in five seconds.” Oliver laughs and squirms until he’s out from under the covers, running down the hall towards the bathroom. Blaine sits up and leans against the wall, runs a hand over his face and Kurt looks at him questioningly, takes his hand. 

“I’m good,” Blaine says, squeezes Kurt’s hand. They can hear Oliver in Ava’s room, Ava’s annoyed voice and Oliver laughing, and Blaine chuckles, shakes his head. 

“Guess we better get those Lucky Charms ready,” Kurt says, his hand an anchor as Blaine pulls himself out of bed. He doesn’t say anything when Blaine stumbles on his bad leg, just lets Blaine lean against him, a crutch as they make their way down the hall, ready to greet their bickering kids like nothing is wrong. 

-

A week later and it’s Ava’s piano recital. Kurt can tell Blaine’s not feeling well, his voice has the muffled quality of a stuffy nose and he keeps sneezing, coughing like there’s something stuck in his throat. He’s not feeling well but he’s being so _stubborn_ and it makes Kurt’s blood race hot through his veins. 

Ava’s getting ready in her room, occasionally coming out to model her dresses as she tries to decide between the red velvet dress or the black sparkly one, Oliver watching SpongeBob in the living room with rapt attention. Blaine sits at the kitchen table, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a button up shirt, a light coat over his shoulders, shoes on and crutches at the ready. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, scrubbing at the remnants of spaghetti sauce where Oliver had been sitting. 

“Kurt,” Blaine says, voice mocking, his arms crossed against his chest and sometimes it amazes Kurt how Blaine can be as petulant as their children. 

“Please, Blaine. I don’t want to argue with you,” Kurt says with a sigh, closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Then don’t argue,” Blaine says, “I’m coming to the recital.” 

“Fine,” Kurt says, exasperated. “If you want to be surrounded by dozens of disease-bearing little kids and when you’re _already_ sick, and don’t try and deny it, Blaine, then fine.”

Blaine opens his mouth to argue but Kurt cuts him off. It’s been a long day and he’s _tired_ and worrying about Blaine is just another thing he doesn’t have the energy for right now, he just wants to get through the recital, wants to get through the special dinner he promised Ava, wants to get through Oliver’s endless energy and the awkward conversations with other parents. He just wants to get through the night so he can _sleep._

“Don’t, Blaine,” Kurt says, voice sharp. “Tonight’s going to be stressful enough.”

“And what, I’m just another stressor?” Blaine asks, voice hurt and angry. 

“Actually yes, Blaine, you are,” Kurt says, puts his hands on his hips and glances into the living room when Oliver lets out a squeal of laughter. “Your last white count was _one_ , and since you don’t seem to care about your own wellbeing, I don’t want to spend the night worrying about you.” 

Blaine huffs, his eyes flashing. “Remind me when I stopped being your husband and became your child instead? Jesus, Kurt, you act like we’re walking into the plague.” 

“Blaine, please. It’s just a recital, I know you want to go, but it’s not worth getting sick over.”

“Newsflash, Kurt. I already am sick. And you know what? I’m going to my daughter’s recital because there’s a chance I’ll never get to see her play piano again. I thought maybe you would understand that, but instead you seem determined to make me feel even more useless than I already am.” 

Blaine pushes himself to his feet, plants his crutches firmly under his arms, his face determined, daring Kurt to say something. Kurt couldn’t even if he’d tried, a painful lump lodging in his throat. Ava steps into the kitchen, back in her sparkly black dress, her hair up in a pony tail, her face lighting up when she sees Blaine.

“Are you coming to my recital, Daddy?” she asks, eyes full of hope and Kurt bites his lip, doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. 

“You didn’t think I would miss my baby girl’s recital, did you?” Blaine answers and Ava jumps excitedly, claps her hands and immediately starts asking Blaine about how her dress looks, chattering about the piece she’s been practicing. Blaine sneezes, coughs and tells her how beautiful she looks, how excited he is to see her play and Ava looks like Christmas came early.

“I’ll go get Oliver,” Kurt says after a moment, resigned and Blaine looks up at him, his face still guarded, ready to argue if Kurt tries. He’s not going to.

-

The recital is full of kids running around with excitement and nerves, parents trying to keep track of where they’ve run off to next, clutching their programs and counting down until the end. Oliver stays firmly in-between Kurt and Blaine, Ava behind the stage with her friends and piano teacher. Kurt doesn’t interact much with parents at these recitals, but word gets around and they all know about Ava’s sick father. 

Kurt’s used to the condolences, the looks and the _I can’t even imagine what you’re going through_ ’s, has dealt with them at every other recital he’s been to and he can tell Blaine’s presence here is unexpected, can feel the subtle stares of the other parents, the whispered explanations. He knows Blaine can feel it too, sees the way he his knuckles turn white on his crutches, the way he tries to hold his shoulders high. Kurt tries to give his arm an encouraging squeeze, but Blaine pulls away, refuses to look Kurt in the eyes. 

There are a few stilted conversations, but even Oliver can sense the tension between his fathers, and so most keep their distance. It doesn’t stop the looks, and Kurt can tell Blaine’s happy when it’s time to sit down, slumps heavily in his chair. Oliver climbs on Kurt’s lap for the performance and so Kurt moves to the chair next to Blaine, the small auditorium packed so tight that their shoulders brush and Kurt wishes more than anything that he could take Blaine’s hand in his own, but he doesn’t want to make things worse. 

Sometimes he feels like everything he does just makes it worse. 

Ava is third on the program, her dress shimmering in the lights and she bites her lip nervously as she takes her spot at the piano. She makes a few mistakes as she plays but nothing too bad, and Kurt knows he’s biased but he thinks she might be one of the best musicians here. Both Kurt and Blaine cheer when she’s done and she bows, waves shyly at them before scurrying off the stage. 

The rest of the recital is a blur of kids plunking away at songs Kurt doesn’t remember, of Oliver bouncing impatiently on his lap and Blaine looking more and more tired beside him. Kurt can tell he’s trying his hardest not to cough, shoulders shaking with it, still avoiding Kurt’s eyes. After the recital everyone gathers for brownies and juice, Ava chattering with excitement, Oliver playing with the some of the younger siblings of the other kids and Kurt’s looking for an excuse to leave early. 

“I’ll grab Ava,” Kurt says, pulling away from Blaine’s side for a second and Blaine just gives him a short nod, leans heavily on his crutches. Kurt sucks in a breath, winds through the small crowd until he sees Ava amidst her friends, squealing about something that only six-year-olds can understand. 

“Honey, it’s time to go,” Kurt says, rests a gentle hand on Ava’s back and she starts to pout, her arms crossed. “I know you want to stay with your friends, sweetie, but Daddy’s tired and we need to get back home, okay?”

Ava bites her lip and nods sadly, turns to wave goodbye to her friends, takes Kurt’s hand and lets him guide her back. Someone is talking to Blaine and Kurt can see Blaine looks a little uncomfortable, his eyes flickering over to Kurt while trying to keep a smile on his face. 

“…you to know we’re keeping you in our prayers.” Kurt can make out as he gets closer. Oliver is hugging Blaine’s leg, staring up at the woman with wide eyes. 

“Thank you.” He hears Blaine say, and it almost sounds genuine. 

“Excuse me? I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kurt says, louder than really necessary, steps in close to Blaine. “I just got a call from Rachel and she’s locked herself out of the house again. We should probably go rescue her.” 

The lady, Anne? Kurt thinks, laughs lightly. “Oh Bill did that just last week. I know how it is.” 

Kurt smiles at her and she touches Blaine’s arm lightly. “It really was great to see you here, Blaine. I’m glad things are starting to look up for you.” 

Blaine thanks her again and Kurt wonders where she got that notion. They escape the recital and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief in the parking lot, gets Oliver buckled into his car seat, feels completely ready for this night to be over. Blaine’s slumped in the passenger seat when Kurt slides in, his eyes closed and face lined with exhaustion. Worry pricks at Kurt’s gut but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to start a fight in front of the kids, doesn’t know if Blaine even has the energy for a fight. 

“Are we still getting noodles?” Ava asks from the back, Oliver making an excited noise with the question. Kurt hesitates, knows he promised Ava they could go to her favorite restaurant after her recital, but Blaine looks about ready to drop, his eyes opening halfway at her words. He looks like he’s gearing himself up, and it aches inside Kurt how much Blaine wants to be a good father, how much he wants to be there for their children, how much it hurts him that he can’t. 

“How about we get fast food and eat it on the floor at home? I’ll even let you pick the movie,” Kurt suggests and Ava looks serious, considers this new offer before nodding. 

“Can we get pizza?” she asks and Kurt smiles.

“Of course.” 

“ _And_ ice cream?” she adds, crossing her arms and looking at Kurt with a narrowed eyes. 

“And ice cream,” Kurt agrees, sees Blaine’s lips turn up in a tiny smile next to him. 

“Okay,” she says with another nod. 

Ava and Oliver start bickering about ice cream flavors and Blaine turns his head to look at Kurt, mouths _thank you_ , eyes flickering down in the way they do when he’s embarrassed. Kurt doesn’t say anything, just reaches across the divider to grab Blaine’s hand, gives it a squeeze. This time Blaine doesn’t pull away. 

-

Later that night, after the kids have been washed and tucked into bed, Kurt slips in beside his husband. Blaine had barely made it through half a slice of pizza before Kurt had insisted he head to bed, complying without a fight. Ava hadn’t protested, just kissed him goodnight and went back to watching her movie; after eight months, Blaine’s absence at family dinners was practically normal. 

Blaine stirs, rolls over to blink up at Kurt.

“Sorry to wake you, go back to sleep,” Kurt says quietly, leans over to press a light kiss to Blaine’s forehead. But Blaine doesn’t roll back over, instead pushes himself up into a sitting position, looks down at his knees. 

“Do you remember when we first brought Ava home?” Blaine asks, draws a pattern on the blanket over his lap. 

“I remember the first thing she did was puke all over you,” Kurt says, chuckling at the memory. Blaine smiles but it’s sad, doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“It was a mess,” he says, looks up at Kurt. “But I told her I’d love her no matter what, and that…” his voice cracks and he stops, swallows a few times before continuing. “I told her I’d always be there for her and now…” He sniffs, wipes angrily at his eyes. “I feel like I’ve broken my promise.” 

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, but Blaine shakes his head.

“I’m sorry I fought with you earlier.” The words are a whisper, and Kurt thinks he sounds defeated. 

“I’m not mad,” Kurt reassures, pulls Blaine in against him. Blaine coughs and it makes Kurt wince, sounds scratchy and rough. “Sometimes I get a little… one-sided about things, but I’m not mad.” 

Blaine nods, draws in a wavering breath. “I just feel like I’m failing our kids.” 

“Don’t ever think that,” Kurt says, rubs his hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Ava understands. She worries about you too.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Blaine protests, pokes at his leg roughly. “She should worry about normal six-year-old things. Like nail polish and gel pens.”

“I hate to break it to you, but kids are allowed to worry about their parents,” Kurt says, grabs Blaine’s hand so he can’t poke himself again. “I’ve worried about my dad since I was five and I discovered his passion for Slim Jim’s.” 

Blaine’s quiet a moment. “Do you think she’ll still remember me, after I’m…”

“Stop,” Kurt says, voice firm. “We’re not having this conversation right now. You’re tired and I’m tired and it’s been a long day, okay? Ava loves you, and Oliver adores you and you’re going to have plenty of chances to make more memories with them.” 

Blaine shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m just… being melodramatic.” He gives a forced laugh, presses a kiss to Kurt’s cheek. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

He slides back down into bed, pulls Kurt into his arm and even though Kurt knows this conversation isn’t over, he’s more than willing to pretend for now. 

Sleep comes quickly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And look, exactly a year later, I'm finally updating this. 
> 
> I'm sorry. I know I'm the worst, but I promise the next part will be out much faster. Thank you to all my lovely readers to being so patient with me. Without you, this chapter probably wouldn't exist. 
> 
> Also a huge, huge thanks to mailroomorder, for putting up with my multiple versions of this, dealing with my excessive use of commas, and helping me improve this to something that's actually readable. You're amazing. 
> 
> As always, warnings for cancer, grief, and serious illness of a parent. This chapter is rough, but I promise things will get better. Don't hesitate to message me with any concerns about reading.

The bath water is growing cold before Kurt stirs, draws his finger in a line across the smooth surface, watches as the ripples hit his legs where his knees jut above the water. He can hear Ava and Oliver arguing in the living room, the TV muted through the walls. Every few minutes Blaine gives a cough, wet and harsh, and Kurt closes his eyes, sinks below the surface of the water. A few bubbles escape his nose, but it’s quiet here. Calm. He stays under until his lungs scream, until he’s forced to push himself back up and gasp in a breath, water sloshing over the edge.  

“You’ll catch a cold in there.”

Kurt blinks dripping water from his eyes, sees Blaine sitting on the closed toilet, a tissue clutched in his hand. A smile strains his lips, broken by another cough, his eyes watering with the force of it.  

“I was just getting out,” Kurt says, pulls the chain from the drain, watches the whirlpool that forms as the tub begins to empty. Blaine tugs a towel from the rack near the bathtub, hands it to Kurt when he stands, goosebumps forming on his skin.

“Maybe I was in there a little too long,” Kurt acquiesce, as he wraps the towel around himself.

"Jasmine?" Blaine says with a hum, picking up the jar of bath salts Kurt had left on the edge of the tub.

"It was in the package Dad and Carole sent us. I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be for you, but you know me."

"You do have a weakness for baths," Blaine says, a smile tugging his lips.

"I do," Kurt admits with a shrug, pulling his bottle of lotions from the shelf. "Maybe we can try it together later."

Blaine doesn’t respond, a cough shaking his frame, and Kurt feels his stomach turn with the realization of how _awful_ Blaine looks, like it's taking everything he has just to stay upright. He’s looked different for awhile, barely recognizable from the man in their wedding photos. His hair is short, thinner than it used to be, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced, clothes hanging off of him in a way they never used to. He doesn’t hold his shoulders as high, his posture hunched, and the fingers that Kurt loves to twine in his own almost spindly.

"That  cough isn't sounding any better," Kurt says, worry pulling at his gut. Blaine's quiet for a moment, watching as Kurt slips into a pair of loose yoga pants and an old t-shirt. "Are you sure you won't go in?"

Blaine shakes his head, his expression pinched, one hand absently massaging his right knee in the way he does when his leg is hurting.

“What is it?” Kurt asks, cups his hand to Blaine’s jaw before letting it fall to his arm. Blaine bites at a chapped lip. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, I’m…” Blaine starts, clears his throat. “I’m okay. I'll go Monday. I just... I want one night, you know?”

Kurt tilts his head, tries to understand what Blaine’s saying. He looks so desperate, like he’s trying to grab something just out of his reach.

“Just one night,” Blaine whispers, quickly wipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He blinks, tries to sit up straight, but Kurt thinks it just makes him look even smaller.

“You can have every night,” Kurt says, and he feels a little lost, but he pulls Blaine into his arms anyway, his husband sinking against him.

“I just want tonight.” Blaine’s words are soft, and a shiver makes it’s way down Kurt’s spine.

“Okay,” Kurt whispers back, pressing a kiss to the tender skin just below Blaine’s ear. “Tonight.”

Blaine pulls back, just enough for his eyes to roam over Kurt’s face, a smile on his lips. Lips that Kurt makes sure to kiss, tender and slow.

“What did you want?” Kurt asks, when they part, Blaine already slightly short of breath.

“Something… normal,” Blaine says, looking up in thought. Kurt runs his hands down Blaine’s chest, feels the bump of his port, just above his heart.

“Should we ask the kids?” Kurt asks, bites back any protest on how Blaine shouldn’t be pushing himself. He still doesn’t agree with Blaine’s refusal to go see a doctor about his cough, or how he keeps insisting he has an appointment Monday and that’s only three days away, he can wait. Kurt’s argued, frustrated and worried, but a part of him understands. The past year of their lives has been spent in and out of hospitals, in and out of doctors offices, weekly and bi-weekly visits becoming the norm, and he know Blaine just wants a break. Wants one week of normalcy, of pretending his life isn’t being ruined by the traitorous colony of mutated cells growing in his leg, spreading through his body, sucking everything away. So he lets Blaine have his way, his own constant headache throbbing a little more forcefully.

“They’re the experts,” Blaine agrees, accepting Kurt’s offered hand. Kurt pulls him to his feet, reaches out to grab the crutches Blaine had propped against the counter, but Blaine shakes his head. And Kurt doesn’t argue; he’s not really sure why he’s giving in to Blaine so easily tonight, but there’s something about the way he’s holding on to Kurt, about the desperate look in his eyes that makes him go along with it.

“Alright,” Kurt says, keeps an arm wrapped around Blaine’s back as they make their way into the living room. Ava and Oliver are both sitting on the couch, Spongebob still on the TV, the coloring books Carole has sent spread over their laps, almost exactly as Kurt had left them when he disappeared for his bath.

“Daddy!” Ava exclaims when they enter, jumping off the couch and running to wrap herself around Blaine.

“Easy, honey,” Kurt says, and Ava backs off just slightly, looks up apologetically. It’s not fair to them, Kurt thinks, when Blaine’s appearances are so rare these days, that they should be told off for their excitement to see him.

“I’m sorry,” Ava says, her voice soft, but Blaine takes her hand, holds onto it tightly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Blaine says, pulls her in until she gives him another hug. “I miss my baby girl’s hugs.”

She giggles before disconnecting herself and running back to the couch.

“Want to see what I drew?”

She shows them drawings of dogs and houses and flowers, and Oliver excitedly shoves his own scribbled drawings at them, Blaine taking a careful seat on the couch beside them. He’s exhausted, but he’s pushing through, a glance up at Kurt shows that he’s not fooling anyone..

“Daddy wants to do something special with you guys tonight,” Kurt says, once the drawings have been properly admired. “We thought you guys could pick something extra good.”

Ava’s eyes grow wide and she immediately bounces on the couch.

“Disney World!” she shrieks, clapping her hand together. Blaine laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners, and oh how Kurt’s missed that laugh, happy and carefree. Oliver takes a moment to understand what she’s saying, but when he does he flings himself down on the couch, kicks his feet in excitement, repeating her words.

“We were thinking more something we could do tonight,” Kurt says, laughing as well. Ava’s lower lip immediately sticks out, and Blaine chuckles, runs a hand through her hair.

“We’ll go to Disney World someday,” Blaine says, and she leans in against him, looks like she’s soaking in every moment of her Dad that she can get. “Just not tonight.”

“When you’re better?” she asks, looking between her fathers hopefully.

“Yeah,” Blaine says, but the word is soft, an edge of doubt to it that makes Kurt’s stomach turn.

“What’s something fun we can do here?” Kurt asks, claps his hands together, draws the kids’ attention back.

“S’ghetti!” Oliver shouts from where he’s pushed himself into the couch cushions.

“Spaghetti, huh?” Kurt asks, jumps onto the couch beside Oliver and tickles his stomach, Oliver laughing and burying himself under the cushions.

“Oliver loves spaghetti,” Ava explains to Blaine, the smile on Blaine’s face flickering only for a moment, and Kurt knows how much it hurts Blaine when he’s reminded at how much he’s missed out on their lives.

“You are starting to look a bit like a noodle,” Blaine says to Oliver, who has crawled into Kurt’s lap. He giggles and shakes his head, pressing his face into Kurt’s shirt.

“You know, I’d have to agree,” Kurt says, hooking his arms under Oliver’s armpits and lifting him in the air, Oliver giggling and squirming. “You do look very noodle-y.”

Oliver giggles a protest, until Kurt swings him back onto his lap.  

“Papa, I’m not noodles!” Oliver insists, in that way only a three year old can.

Beside them Blaine coughs, turns his head into his elbow, his body shaking with it. Kurt closes his eyes, only for a moment, draws in a deep breath.

“Okay, so, noodles and what else?” He looks between Ava and Oliver. “What would make tonight the _best_ night ever?”

“Ponies!” Ava says, giggling, at the same time Oliver shouts “Ice cream!”

“Okay, so Oliver’s mind is on food,” Kurt says, tickles Oliver just enough to make him squirm in his lap, head burying into Kurt’s arm.

“Can we do Sing Along?” Ava asks suddenly, pulling away from Blaine to look at Kurt. “Pretty please?”

Blaine looks at Kurt questioningly.

“Rachel got Ava a sing along game,” Kurt explains. “To hone her talents while she’s young or something.”

“Sounds like Rachel,” Blaine says with a nod, Ava already across the room to find the game.

They end up sprawled on the floor, bowls of pasta beside them, and Kurt’s pleased to see Blaine’s actually eaten most of his, Oliver’s collection of toy cars between them, Ava’s dolls mixed in. Ava keeps pulling Kurt away to play her sing along game with him, Oliver and Blaine cheering from the floor, while simultaneously racing cars and dressing up the dolls. Somehow, Blaine’s ended up with a pink crown on his head, Oliver with a blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape, and halfway through the night Ava had run into her room to change into her frilliest costume dress and started insisting everyone address her as Princess Ava.

Kurt doesn’t remember the last time they had a night this fun, when everything felt so carefree and relaxed. When Blaine was awake and smiling, when he didn’t feel stretched, like he’s barely hanging on. He wants to hold onto it, wants tonight to stop slipping through his fingers like sand, every minute that passes getting closer and closer to when it has to end. Eventually Ava gets tired of singing, but she picks some songs to play in the background.

“Dance with me, Daddy!” she exclaims, tugging on Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine looks worn out, and his leg is tense and Kurt knows it’s hurting him.

“I’ll dance with you, Princess,” Kurt says, pushing himself to his feet and hoping to give Blaine a little break. Ava just crosses her arms, and Kurt knows that look, the one that means she won’t give up easily. Their daughter is anything if stubborn.

“I want to dance with Daddy,” Ava insists.

“We’ve talked about this, Ava, remember?” Kurt says, more firmly this time. “We need to respect Daddy’s limits.”

“I don’t wanna.” Ava stomps her foot, voice crossing from argumentative to obstinate. Oliver has grown still on the floor, watching Ava and Kurt with wide eyes.

“Honey,” Blaine starts, pushing himself forward to try and take Ava’s hand. She pulls away. “I promise we can dance soon, okay?”

“No!” Ava shrieks, and Kurt can see tears pooling in her eyes. “You always promise things but it never happens! It’s not fair!”

This isn’t an unusual occurrence lately, Ava growing mad and lashing out. Kurt’s received the notes and phone calls from her school and summer camp, has had a handful of meetings with Ava and the school counselor, to try and work through whatever is going on in her head, but nothing seems to help. It all stems back to Blaine, Kurt knows that, Ava and Blaine were always very close before he got sick, but knowing that doesn’t give Kurt any ideas of what to do.

Ava kicks one of her dolls, and now Oliver starts crying, always so sensitive to the emotions around him.

“Ava Elizabeth,” Kurt says sternly. “We do not kick things, no matter how angry we are.”

“I don’t care,” Ava fires back, her chin quivering. “I hate you! I hate Daddy and I hate you!”

Kurt doesn’t even have time to tell her to go to her room when she’s already running there, slamming her door behind her. He draws in a breath, presses his palms into his eyes, before he hears quiet sniffling and remembers he has more than one kid who needs comforting right now.

Oliver has already crawled into Blaine’s lap, wiping his eyes, his tangled curls flattening against Blaine’s shirt. Blaine just looks up at Kurt, his hand stroking a gentle rhythm down Oliver’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says, soft enough to not upset Oliver any further. Kurt crouches down beside them, rests a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, presses a quick kiss to Blaine’s cheek.

“It’s not your fault,” he says with a sigh, settling back and crossing his legs. “She’s been having these outbursts lately. I think she’s just…”

“Going through more than a seven year old should,” Blaine says, and Kurt nods.

“Yeah.” He runs his hand through Oliver’s hair, gets stuck in the tangles. Oliver looks up at them, a few fat tears still rolling down his cheeks.

“I love you, Daddy,” Oliver says, so earnestly that Kurt has to laugh.

“I love you too, monkey,” Blaine says, kisses the top of Oliver’s head. Kurt smiles, knows that despite the anger and frustration they’ve been dealing his kids are good kids.

“Come here, monkey man.” Kurt puts his arms out after a moment, lets Oliver detach himself from Blaine and climb into his own arms. “Lets get you ready for bed.”

He stands, makes an exaggerated groaning noise and pretends to drop Oliver, a tactic that never fails to make Oliver squeal and giggle, his arms tightening around Kurt’s neck.

“Say goodnight to Daddy, okay?” Kurt says, pauses so Oliver can wave to Blaine, who’s scooted himself back to lean against the couch.

“Night, Daddy,” Oliver says, peeking over Kurt’s shoulder.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Blaine says, his voice laced with exhaustion, and Kurt looks back worriedly for a moment. But Blaine just smiles, blows them a kiss.

_You okay?_ Kurt mouths at Blaine, but Blaine nods, waves him away. Kurt pauses only for a moment before continuing down the hallway, brushing a half-asleep Oliver’s teeth and plying him into pajamas before depositing him into bed with a kiss. He turns on Oliver’s nightlight before leaving the room, stopping in the doorway to watch Oliver snuggle under his covers, his stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest.

Back down the hallway, he pauses in front of Ava’s room, hears her quiet sniffling through the door. He cracks the door open, peeks inside to see her sitting on her bed, already in her pajamas, her dress laying haphazardly on the floor.

“Hey, Princess.” Kurt keeps his voice soft, slips into the room. Ava sniffs, looks up at him. Part of him knows he should talk to her, that they should talk about emotions and how to control them, and what to do instead of getting angry and lashing out. But part of him is just so _tired_ , as tired as Ava looks, and he thinks maybe tonight is a night to let things go.

“Should we brush our teeth?”

Ava nods, stands and gives Kurt a tight hug before following him into the bathroom. Kurt runs a comb through her hair as she brushes her teeth, both of them laughing when a glob of toothpaste falls onto the front of her nightgown. The tension eases, his daughter looking nervously up at him.

“Can I ‘pologize to Daddy before bed?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Kurt scoops her up, wonders when his little girl started to get so big, smacks a kiss to her cheek.

“Of course you can,” Kurt says, smiles when Ava scrunches her nose at the kiss.

Blaine isn’t in the living room anymore, and Kurt’s not really surprised to see he’s already slipped back under the covers in their room, only a single light dimly illuminating the room. Sleep heavy eyes blink open when Kurt sets Ava on the bed beside him, Blaine pushing himself up when he sees who's beside him.

“I love you, Daddy,” Ava says, almost shyly, sitting close to Blaine but not quite touching, looking hesitant. Almost afraid.

“I love you too, baby girl,” Blaine says back, his voice already rough with sleep, but he leans forward, touches a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m not a baby,” Ava protests, in the way she always does when Blaine calls her that. Blaine lets out a soft laugh.

“I know. But you’ll always be mine,” Blaine says, before turning away to cough. Ava’s face falls, just slightly, but enough for Kurt to scoop her back up in his arms.

“Lets let Daddy get some sleep,” Kurt says, looks away from the frustrated expression on Blaine’s face. “I think our princess needs her beauty sleep as well.”

Ava nods, lets her head fall against Kurt’s shoulder.

“Feel better, Daddy.”

-

Kurt’s eyes feel gummy, his eyelids sandpaper. The room is dark, the clock signaling that it’s nearly four in the morning. Kurt rolls over, nuzzles his face into his pillow, spreads his arms out across the bed. There’s a noise, a constant grate in his ears and he frowns, blinks his eyes open once more.

Awareness filters in slowly, breaking apart the pieces of lingering sleep, giving Kurt time to lick dry lips, dig his fingers into the wrinkled sheets around him. The noise. Kurt frowns, a questioning grunt making it’s way out of his throat.

“Blaine?” The name slips out automatically. Blaine. The bed next to him. The very empty bed. It slams into him, the sudden realization that something isn’t right, his heart already starting to pick up it's pace. Kurt pushes himself upright, takes in Blaine’s side of the bed, the covers pushed back in a tangled mess, shifts his gaze to the room around him.

“Blaine!” He can see the dark shape of his husband on the floor, his heart jumping into his throat and he quickly turns on the bedside light, blinking as his eyes adjust. Blaine’s sitting against the wall, legs extended in front of him, fingers pressing into the carpet beside him. Kurt quickly slides off the bed, kneels on the floor. Blaine’s eyes are closed, his skin sickly pale, and Kurt can see a fine sheen of sweat over his skin, his pajama shirt soaked through, short hair sticking damp to his forehead. His breathing is shallow, coming in rattling gasps, and Kurt realizes with a twist of his stomach that’s the noise that woke him up.

“Blaine, what's wrong?” Kurt asks, even though it’s obvious that everything is wrong. He doesn’t know what else to do, hands hovering over Blaine, afraid to touch, afraid to make things work. His brain stalls as it struggles to catch up, his eyes widening as if he can look through clothes and skin, can peer into veins and blood and lungs to find out what’s wrong. “What is it? Talk to me.”

Blaine’s eyelid cracks open, revealing bloodshot eyes.

“Pressure,” Blaine grunts, presses a hand to his chest. “Hard to…”

He coughs, a harsh, rattling sound that makes Kurt wince, and he can tell Blaine isn’t getting enough air with each breath.

“Okay,” Kurt says, can barely swallow back his panic. He stands up, turns a circle, grabs at a loose shirt on the end of the bed, twists it in his hands before kneeling back down. “Okay. You’re okay. Shit.”

Blaine looks up at him, eyes shining with frightened tears.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, the words barely a whisper.  

“I know,” Kurt says, presses his own shaking hand to Blaine’s forehead, uses the shirt in his hands to pat at the damp sweat. “Jesus, you’re burning. Okay.”

Another attempt at a cough, this time Blaine’s hand grabbing Kurt’s leg in a desperate grip, the muscles in his neck straining as he struggles to get in another breath.

“Just breathe. You can do this,” Kurt commands, his attempts at sounding calm betrayed by the quiver in his voice. "Just try and take a breath."

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, and Kurt can tell he's trying, his body shaking with the effort of it.

"Just like that," Kurt says as soft as he can, lays a gentle hand on Blaine's back. His mind is racing, a panicked jumble of thoughts tangling in his head, falling over themselves as he tries to figure out what he needs to do. What Blaine needs him to do.

Blaine drags in a breath and coughs again; Kurt can feel the rattle under his fingers and it seems like it's going on forever, like it will never stop, Blaine's fingers digging painfully into his leg. Kurt keeps rubbing a soothing rhythm on Blaine’s damp back, keeps up a steady stream of calming words despite the pounding of his heart, keeps mopping the sweat prickling at the back of Blaine’s neck. It ends after a long, dragging breath, Blaine slumping back against the wall. Something red speckles his lips, bright on the pale skin of Blaine’s chin. Blood, Kurt realizes, a cold panic sweeping through him.

“Shit,” he hisses, and Blaine reaches a hand to wipe at his mouth, eyes growing wide at the red that comes away. Kurt curses again, hand moving to hover over Blaine’s shoulder. He wants to cry, his thoughts racing too fast and he doesn’t know what to do, how to make this okay, how to make _Blaine_ okay. He doesn’t know how to fix this, but he knows Blaine needs help, and just like that his brain comes to a screeching halt, latches on to the solution.

“I’m going to go grab the kids, and then we’re going to the hospital,” Kurt says, surprised by how confident his voice sounds, a sharp command, made more harsh by the pounding of his heart. “You’re going to be okay.”

Blaine nods, releases his grip on Kurt, his head falling back against the wall. Kurt presses a kiss to his forehead, forceful and desperate, before pushing himself to his feet. He’s on autopilot, throwing on clothes and barely registering each step down the hallway until he flips on the light in Ava’s room, Ava groaning as she tries to bury her head under her pillow.

“Ava, sweetheart.” Kurt kneels by her bed. “I know it’s late, honey, but I need you to get up okay?”

“Why?” Ava groans, blinking up at Kurt through bleary eyes.

“Daddy is really sick, and we need to get him to the doctor.”

“-m tired,” she mumbles, tries to burrow back down under her blankets.

“I’m so sorry, darling, but we need to get Daddy some help.”

Ava starts to look more alert at the obvious panic in Kurt’s voice, and Kurt can already feel precious seconds beginning to tick away. He pulls back her covers, a hand on her back nudging her forcefully out of bed.

“Is Daddy okay?” she asks, looking scared, standing barefoot on her floor.

“I don’t know,” Kurt answers honestly, grabbing a pair of leggings for her to put on under her nightgown. He paces the room, throwing open her closet and grabbing a pair of boots before he remembers how warm it is outside.  “But we need to get him help, okay?”

Kurt lets the boots fall the the ground, his fingers running through his hair as he lets out a frustrated noise.

“Where are your damn sandals?”

Ava doesn’t answer but her chin quivers, eyes already misting with tears.

“I’m sorry. Don’t cry, everything is… It’s okay. We just need to go now, so Daddy can get help, alright?” Kurt says in a distracted rush, and Ava nods. He locates her sandals next to her hamper, grabs them before thrusting them into her hands. “Now, I need you to be a big, brave girl and help me get Oliver ready to go, do you think you can do that?”

Ava steels her jaw and nods again. “Yeah.” Her voice is watery, but Kurt feels a spark of pride for his daughter amid the panic, and he presses a kiss to her head before moving back down the hall to wake Oliver. He’s slower, his three year old brain can’t quite process the urgency, and Kurt has to forcibly pull him out of bed.

It takes him three tries to tie one of Oliver’s shoelaces, Oliver blinking at him in a tired daze, before Ava insists she can help. Kurt nods once, stands and lets Ava take over Oliver’s shoes, making his way back to the master bedroom. He tries to ignore the feeling that too much time has passed, they’re taking too long.

In the room, Blaine’s eyes are closed, his whole body sinking back against the wall. His lips have taken on a light shade of blue that makes Kurt’s heart falter, the whole world growing fuzzy around him until he can still see the rise and fall of Blaine’s chest, can hear the harsh rattle with every breath. The panic lessens only slightly, and he crosses the room, drops down beside Blaine, presses a gentle hand to Blaine’s shoulder.

“The kids are getting ready to go. We’re going to get you help. You’re going to be okay,” Kurt whispers, voice cracking at the end. “Please be okay.”

 Hazel eyes crack open, glance over at Kurt.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers back, hand reaching for Kurt.

“Shhh.” It comes out harsher than he means, an almost violent noise as he helps Blaine to lean forward, cautious of his leg. “None of that. Can you stand?”

Blaine looks up at Kurt, eyes wide and ashamed, his body already beginning to sag against Kurt.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Kurt reassures, pulling Blaine against him. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Kurt pulls Blaine’s arms around his neck, determination sweeping through him. He slides an arm behind Blaine’s back, another slipping under his knees. Blaine puts up no more resistance than a ragdoll as Kurt cradles him to his chest. A whimper sounds against him as Kurt jostles his leg and Kurt feels hot tears stinging his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Kurt whispers into his hair. Blaine doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip around Kurt’s neck. Kurt carries him from the room, trying not to notice the way Blaine’s breath catches with every step. Ava and Oliver are waiting by the front door, light jackets and shoes on over their pajamas, hands tightly clasped together. Oliver is blinking sleepily, his stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?” Oliver asks, eyes wide and scared as he watches Kurt carrying Blaine.

“Daddy needs some special medicine,” Kurt explains as calmly as he can. Blaine coughs against him. “I know you’re tired, but I need you guys to be extra good for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Ava and Oliver nod in unison.

“Ava, I need you to be a huge help and carry my wallet for me, okay?”

Ava grabs it from beside the door while Kurt fumbles with the car keys, cursing quietly as they fall to the floor. Oliver picks them up, holding them carefully in his tiny fist.

“Will you man the keys, Oliver?” Kurt asks, making sure Blaine is secure in his arms. Oliver nods, face serious with importance, holding the keys close to his body. Ava opens the door when Kurt asks and he leads them out into the warm summer night, down the front steps to the car parked in the driveway. A frown forms on Oliver’s face as he attempts to use the autostart until Ava intervenes and presses the correct button.

Blaine is still against Kurt, his eyes squeezing shut, mouth a thin line. Kurt manages to prop the car door open, lowers Blaine into the passenger seat, Blaine helping as much as he can, but Kurt can tell it’s taking all his energy just to keep breathing.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, honey,” Kurt says, fingers slipping as he tries to buckle Blaine in. Then Blaine’s hand is on his, holding it steady until the buckle clicks into place.

“Dandy,” Blaine rasps, fighting back another cough. Kurt doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, settles on simply leveling Blaine a look before squeezing his hand and shutting the door. He gives himself one second to take a deep breath, to hold his shoulders back and try to calm the pounding of his heart. He has to stay strong. For Blaine, for Oliver, for Ava, for himself. He can’t falter. Not now.

Oliver blinks sleepily as Kurt rushes to buckle him into his car seat, silent tears rolling down Ava’s cheeks as she settles herself into her booster seat. Kurt wipes them up with his thumb, kisses the tip of her nose.

“Don’t cry, turnip.” Ava just sniffs and nods, but the tears don’t stop. Kurt wishes he had more time, could hold her and comfort her and tell her everything will be okay. Instead he forcefully closes the back door and slips into the driver’s seat, firing the engine and pulling out of the driveway.

-

The drive to the hospital is mostly quiet, only Blaine’s struggled breaths and Ava’s soft crying filling the car. It’s a twenty minute drive on a good day, but the roads are quiet, and Kurt breaks more than one traffic law in his hurry.

“I should have called an ambulance,” Kurt says, when they’re stopped at a red light. “Why didn’t I call a damn ambulance?”

He takes a moment to look over at Blaine, his head pressed against the window, eyes closed.

“Blaine, honey, you have to stay awake for me right now.” Kurt shifts his arm to grab Blaine’s hand, gives it a tight squeeze and Blaine groans, eyes slitting open. “Stay with me, okay?”

“Trying,” Blaine offers, just as the light turns green and Kurt guns the gas pedal.

“We’re almost there.” The reassurance is mostly for himself, but it makes him better to talk, to know they’re getting closer. He glances in the rear view mirror and sees Oliver stuffing his face into his bunny, Ava staring down at her slippers.

They make it there in fifteen minutes, Kurt pulling to a stop in front of the Emergency Room doors, not even bothering to turn off the car before he’s out, unbuckling Oliver and making sure Ava has hold of her brother’s hand before he opens passenger door. This time Blaine tries to slide out, leaning heavily against Kurt, Kurt muttering a steady stream of _you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay_ , as they make their way inside. Blaine limps with every step, his fingers digging painfully into Kurt’s side, Ava’s hand clutching the hem of his shirt.

They barely make it inside the door, Blaine’s breathing turning into a raspy wheeze, a tired looking receptionist glancing up at them when Blaine’s body becomes fluid against Kurt, and Kurt can’t support him anymore, can only try to ease his slide to the ground.

“Help, please!” Kurt shouts at the receptionist, unable to tear his eyes away from the pale, unresponsive face of his husband, the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. He feels sick, his stomach bottoming out, a loud ringing in his ears, the world taking on a hazy quality, and then, in an instant, there are people around them pulling him to the side. Something is being called overhead, questions being asked so quickly Kurt can barely keep up, can barely think to make sure Ava and Oliver are still behind him as Blaine is loaded onto a bed, an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

_Blaine Anderson-Hummel_

_Yes, he’s my husband_

_He has cancer, please help him_

_I don’t… osteosarcoma_

_Is he going to be okay?_

_Please help him_

_Please_

Blaine’s pulled away, behind a set of double doors with a request for Kurt to stay out here, they’ll come get him as soon as he can. Kurt feels numb, a tingling in his hands and feet as his husband disappears from view, and all he can do is blink, a the strange ringing noise still in his ears.

Blink.

Breathe.

Blink.

A nurse watches Ava and Oliver while Kurt moves the the car into an actual parking spot, and he feels oddly weightless as he walks back into the waiting room of the Emergency Department. Ava is crying, Oliver looking up at the nurse with an expression that’s a mix between confusion and fear, both of them running back to Kurt when he appears. A stack of paperwork is pressed into his hands, meaningless reassurances in his ears.

A glance up at the clock show that barely ten minutes have passed since Blaine was taken away, ten minutes minutes during which so much could have happen, ten minutes of _not knowing_ , and Kurt forces himself to look back down. He focuses on his children instead, on Ava who is barely holding it together, her face red and wet with tears, her nose running, chin quivering.

“Is Daddy gonna die?” she asks in a wavering voice, looks up at Kurt with eyes that have seen more than a child ever should have.

“They’re doing everything they can,” Kurt says, crouching down to eye level. He looks at Ava, reaches to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Oliver clutches his rabbit to his chest, pressing closer into Kurt’s side.

“It’s my fault.”

Kurt can barely make out the words through Ava’s sobs, and at first he doesn’t know how to respond, brain struggling to process her words.

“No, honey, this isn’t your fault,” Kurt says, reaches to pull Ava into a hug. She sinks into him, her tiny body shaking with her tears.

“I said I hated him,” Ava says, muffled into Kurt’s shirt. “It’s all my fault.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kurt says, presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Daddy’s been sick for a long time and he just needs some special help now. It’s not your fault, okay? You’ve been such a big help to Daddy, and I know he would be proud of you right now.”

Ava doesn’t say anything, but she presses into Kurt even harder.

“You know that, right?” Kurt says, runs a hand through her hair until it snags on a tangle. “Daddy loves you, loves both of you, very much. And we need to be strong for him right now, can we do that?”

Ava pulls back, her face red and streaked with tears, but she nods, Oliver watching her and follows suit. Kurt presses a kiss to both of their foreheads, tries to smile but his mouth feels stiff, and he knows he’s not far away from breaking down as well.

“Daddy would be very proud of you.” Kurt’s voice cracks at the end and he bites his lip, swallows past the lump in his throat. Oliver yawns and rubs at his eyes, and Kurt pulls them over to the small waiting room chairs. Ava crawls onto the chair next to him; Kurt lifts Oliver into his lap and tries to feel something other than cold and tired, but his brain has been filled molasses and nothing seems to be making it through. Oliver presses his face against Kurt and Kurt can feel him crying, his stuffed rabbit stuck between them.

“It’s okay,” Kurt says, the words coming automatically. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Ava sniffs beside him, and Kurt lets her crawl up on his lap, snuggling in beside Oliver. He can smell the strawberry of their shampoo, closes his eyes and fill him, holds his children close and tries not to cry.

-

Pneumonia, they tell him later. Double pneumonia, a bad case even for a normal, healthy adult. Blaine’s been intubated and taken up to the Critical Care Unit, needs to be started on an intensive dose of antibiotics, his weakened immune system too fragile to fight this off on his own.

You got him here just in time, they tell him.

You did the right thing.

But the guilt still squeezes Kurt until he feels like _he_ can’t breathe, until his desperate question comes out in barely more than a whisper.

“Can I see him?”

Soon, they answer, but Blaine’s still settling in, and Kurt’s left waiting even longer, blinking down at his children, both asleep in the stiff waiting room chairs.

He does the only thing he can think of. He calls Rachel.

“Kurt?” Rachel answers after the fifth ring, her voice rough with sleep.

“Rachel. I need you take Ava and Oliver for the day.” The words are thin, but steady.

“Wha- what’s going on?” Rachel asks, and Kurt can hear covers rustling, the sound of Rachel clicking on a light.

“I’m at the hospital.” There. Now his voice cracks. “I can’t… I can’t keep the kids here.”

“What happened?” Rachel’s voice is serious, demanding.

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, the name catching in his throat.

“Kurt, please tell me Blaine is okay.”

“He’s not,” Kurt says, feels hot tears on his cheeks for the first time tonight. “I need you to come get Ava and Oliver. Please.”

“I’m on my way, okay?” Rachel’s voice is calming, but the tears have started and Kurt doesn’t think he can stop them this time. “Just hold on, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, clutches his phone until his knuckles turn white.

“How bad is it?” The question is soft, a pause that lets Kurt draw in a shaky breath.

“I don’t… they said pneumonia. He couldn’t breathe and I got him here as fast as I could and…”

“And you did the best you could. Don’t focus on _what if_ ’s, alright?”

Kurt nods before he remembers Rachel can’t see him.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Thank you.”

Oliver blinks an eye open after Kurt hangs up, after he sinks back into the chair beside him. The stuffed rabbit is still clutched in his hand, and he looks so out of place with his Spider-Man pajamas and messy three-year-old hair.

“Did they give Daddy med’cine?” Oliver asks, rubbing at his eyes.

“They are,” Kurt answers, runs a hand through Oliver’s hair. “They’re doing everything they can.”

Oliver gives a serious nod. “Does he get the orange med’cine? I like orange.”

Kurt laughs, wipes the wetness away from his own cheeks.

“I’ll make sure they give the orange medicine.”

Oliver’s eyes start to slip closed again.

“Good.”  

-

It’s almost six in the morning before Kurt’s allowed in Blaine’s room. Rachel had shown up just as she’d promised, had loaded the kids into her car with promises of ice cream and movies and blanket forts, and for once, Kurt hadn’t protested. He’d kissed their cheeks, and told them to be good, and returned to the waiting room, alone.

It hadn’t taken much longer for a nurse to approach him, to lead him through the hospital into the Critical Care Unit, stopping outside of room 412. Blaine’s room. She’d given a soft explanation, how the ventilator was giving Blaine’s body a chance to rest, to gain back all the energy he was using simply to breathe. How they were keeping him sedated so he won’t feel any pain, how they’re doing everything they can to keep him as stable as possible.

Kurt sits next to the bed, stares at the still face of his husband, at the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the IV threaded into the crook of his arm. He feels numb in a way he wasn’t expecting, and he can’t bring himself to hold Blaine’s hand, despite the nurse’s assurances that it’s alright. Ever since that day, nearly a year ago, when the C word was first uttered, loud and echoing in that cold doctor’s office, somehow, Kurt’s known it was always leading to this. To a cramped hospital room, to a heart empty of hope, to an ending coming too soon.

Kurt closes his eyes.

 

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY. I meant to get this out much quicker, and with a much longer update, but then I decided to move across the country and that's been taking up much of my time. I apologize and I hope to try and update more quickly in the future. Thank you for understanding.
> 
> As always, please heed the warnings.

It started as an ache. Just an ache, a minor nuisance they rarely gave a second thought to. A pulled muscle, Blaine  mused, playfully whining until Kurt relented and gave him the massage Blaine constantly begged for. A pulled muscle, a strained tendon, nothing they had to worry about. Until the ache deepened, until slight frowns became winces with every step, until the first knot of worry formed in Kurt’s gut. 

Kurt knew it was bad when Blaine didn’t resist the doctor’s appointment he’d made, tears of frustration in Blaine’s eyes every time he pulled himself to his feet. They’d gone to see an Orthopedic doctor, had an x-ray and then a CT scan. Kurt can still remember how tight Blaine gripped his hand as they waited, the somber faced doctor that closed the door so quietly behind him. 

  _Ewing’s Sarcoma_. A relatively rare form of bone cancer, that had made a home in Blaine’s right tibia. The quick fix Kurt had been hoping for had turned into months of chemotherapy and radiation, a cat and mouse game of trying to catch the tumors that were determined to spread, first into his femur, and then settling into his pelvic bone. They’d tried surgical resection after six months, but it hadn’t taken long for them to grow back. 

And Blaine had gotten sicker and sicker, had let Kurt continue to drag him to chemo and radiation, but the light in his eyes dulled. His hair thinned, the weight fell off, disappearing with his abundant energy. Ava began acting out and Oliver kept wetting the bed, and Kurt found gray in his own hair. 

And now, sitting here in the too bright hospital room, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his husband’s chest as the ventilator breathes for him, he knows. It was always a waiting game. 

-

The kids are sleeping when he gets to Rachel’s apartment that night, curled up together on her couch. Kurt sees dried tear tracks on Ava’s cheeks, and Rachel looks simultaneously worried and exhausted. 

“I could have kept them for the night,” Rachel say softly. Kurt shakes his head. 

“I didn’t want…” he starts, stops. Swallows past the lump in his throat. “I needed to see them. I… I couldn’t stay there anymore.” 

“How is he?” Rachel asks, a gentle hand on Kurt’s arm, guiding him to the kitchen table. She clicks on her water boiler, pulls a mug out of the cupboard. 

“He’s…” Kurt licks at his lips, wonders when they became so dry. “He’s really sick.” 

The press of tears sting at his eyes and he blinks them back, barely registers the chair scraping the floor as Rachel takes a seat next to him. She slides her fingers into Kurt’s, her hands so much smaller than Blaine’s, but still comforting.

“The pneumonia is really bad, and he has no immune system to fight it off because of all the stupid fucking drugs he has to take, and we just have to sit here and wait for the antibiotics to work and hope that he _somehow_ pulls through.” 

Rachel pulls Kurt in when the first sob shakes his frame and he doesn’t resist, his head falling to her shoulder as she wraps her arms around his back. 

“I’m not ready for him to go,” Kurt says, words muffled by her shirt. “I’m not ready.” 

Rachel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to offer false reassurances and Kurt’s glad for the silence, doesn’t think he can listen to promises they both know might not come true. She just holds him close, rubs a hand on his back, and lets him cry. 

-

The worst part is the phone calls. Blaine’s mom, work, his dad. The same rehearsed sentences over and over. _Blaine’s in the hospital. Blaine’s in the hospital. Blaine’s in the hospital._ Pam Anderson insists on catching a flight out the next day, Burt and Carole arranging to visit the day after. Work gives him a few days off, enough time to process and collect himself. To be there for his family. 

Ava and Oliver stay with Rachel, and Rachel distracts them with games and dress up and singing and ice cream. Kurt spends the day at the hospital, and he can’t bring himself to do anything other than sit there, barely able to respond to the questions and reassurances from the nurses. He sits and waits and tries not to cry. 

It’s nearing four in the afternoon when Rachel comes by with the kids. They hesitate in the doorway, both looking frightened and nervous. They’ve been in the hospital before, after Blaine’s surgery, when he was here for a few days of intensive chemo, but it was scary and overwhelming, and for the most part they’ve stayed away. 

“It’s okay.” Kurt tries to keep his voice soft despite the anxiety churning in his stomach. “You guys can come in.” 

Ava takes a cautious step into the room, her eyes wide as she takes in the equipment surrounding the bed. Oliver’s hand stays firmly in Rachel’s, his tiny body pressed to her side as she leads him in. 

“I know it looks scary, but it’s what your dad needs to get better, okay?” 

Ava nods, her eyes welling with tears and Kurt pulls her into him, wraps her in a hug. 

“I want Daddy to get better.” The words are whispered, muffled from where Ava is pressed into him. A painful lump forms in Kurt’s throat.

“He’s trying his hardest.” 

Ava sniffs, holds onto Kurt for another moment before pulling away, looking back at Blaine. Oliver and Rachel have moved further into the room, and Oliver looks up at her with a hesitant expression.

“Do you want to show your papa what you brought?” Rachel prompts Oliver, guiding him over to Kurt’s side and setting her bag on the floor.

“What did you bring?” Kurt runs a hand through Oliver’s hair before kissing his forehead.

Oliver disconnects his hand from Rachel’s, crouches down to look through her purse before extracting an armful of purple and green construction paper.

“We made flowers.” Oliver lays the paper on Kurt’s lap, and a smile pulls at Kurt’s lips as he sees the roughly made paper flowers, and the near perfect ones Rachel must have made. 

“Did you make these for Daddy?” Kurt asks and Oliver nods, looking both proud and nervous at the same time. 

“I made some too!” Ava adds, excitement breaking through her carefully schooled expression. 

“They’re lovely.” Kurt thumbs through them, something both sad and warm building inside him. “Your Daddy will love them.” 

“Can we hang them up?” Ava asks, already glancing around the room. Kurt laughs; she’s been taking her interior designing skills very seriously lately, covering her room with pictures and drawings, and Oliver’s with monkeys and robots and streamers. If it helps them take their minds off of the severity of the situation, Kurt’s all for it. 

“Of course.” 

They find tape at the nurse’s station, and spend the rest of the afternoon taping paper flowers to the cabinets, the door, the whiteboard with Blaine’s name on it. Rachel sings softly while they work, even gets Oliver to giggle, and Kurt wishes Blaine could see this.

A few nurses come by and remark on how much better the room looks now, and Ava blushes a deep red when one tells her she should decorate the whole hospital. It must be hard to watch whole families fall apart, to see children and loved ones and husbands and wives hanging on to every tiny thing, every minuscule hope. But Kurt’s grateful, for the gentle smiles the nurses give, the care they use with Blaine, the reassuring but honest updates on his status.

He’s still critical, but he’s as stable as they could hope for, and when the sun starts to disappear behind the buildings, the anxious knot in Kurt’s stomach doesn’t seem as painful as it did before. Oliver yawns, Ava’s eyelids drooping, and Kurt knows the most important thing for them is some sense of normalcy. Rachel offers her place for as long as they need, but Kurt declines with a smile and a tight hug. Even though the kids have fun with Rachel, and it would be much easier to not have to worry about them in the morning, Kurt needs them close. 

“Can I give Daddy a goodbye kiss?” Ava asks when they’re just about to leave, hesitating to follow. 

“We can all give Daddy a goodbye kiss,” Kurt says, moves back to Blaine side with Oliver. Ava approaches, pauses at the bedside, tucks her blonde hair behind ears before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s cheek. Oliver watches Ava, a thoughtful expression on his face, and Kurt hoists him up so he can do the same. 

“I love you, Daddy,” Oliver whispers, before wrapping his arms around Kurt’s neck, burying his face into his shoulder. Kurt smooths a hand down Oliver’s back, anchors him as he leans in to press his own kiss to Blaine’s forehead. 

“We’ll be back in the morning,” Kurt says, even though he knows Blaine can’t hear him. His eyes sting and he blinks furiously, turns away and leads his children out of the room. 

-

The next week passes the same way. Kurt goes back to work, the kids go to summer camp during the day, and Rachel watches them in the evenings when Kurt visits Blaine at the hospital. Blaine remains on the ventilator, still too weak to breathe on his own, the sedation medications still coursing through his system, and Kurt wants to pretend he’s just sleeping. 

Oliver wets the bed, and Kurt breaks out the a plastic bed sheet and pull-ups he thought they were done with. Ava crawls into bed with him most nights, snuggles in close and lets Kurt wrap his arms around her. Kurt makes them pizza and ice cream for dinner, the dishes piling up in the sink, laundry untouched. Blaine’s mom shows up, makes lunches for the kids and spends time at the hospital, until Kurt joins her and they listen to the _whir-click_ of the ventilator in silence. They eat, they sleep, they work, and somehow, slowly, they manage to get buy. 

-

Blaine’s sedation is weaned for an hour every day. The first day it happens Kurt is at work, and Pam tells him that Blaine opened his eyes and looked around before falling back asleep. The next day is a Saturday and Kurt drops the kids off at Rachel’s before heading to the hospital. Pam is already there, running her thumb over Blaine’s knuckle, a look in her eyes that twists in Kurt’s stomach. 

“The kids are at Rachel’s,” Kurt explains, taking a seat beside her. “I don’t… I don’t know if it’s good for them to come here or not.” 

“They deserve to have some fun,” Pam says, squeezes Blaine’s hand before letting go. 

“They do.” 

It doesn’t take long after the nurse weans the sedation for Blaine to stir. His eyes squeeze shut before one cracks open, his fingers twitching against the bed until Kurt threads his through Blaine’s. 

“Hey there, sleepy,” Kurt whispers, reaches his hand to brush a hair away from Blaine’s forehead. Blaine blinks, a grimace crossing his face, his hand reaching weakly towards his face, brushing against the tubing of the ventilator. 

“You’re in the hospital.” Pam grabs Blaine’s hand, preventing him from gripping the tubing. “The tube is helping you breathe. You’ve been very sick.” 

Blaine blinks again, fingers flexing in Kurt’s, eyes roaming around the hospital room. Kurt opens his mouth to offer his own reassurances when there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse steps into the room. 

“There are those pretty brown eyes,” she says with a soft smile. She approaches Blaine’s bedside, writes something down on her clipboard, fusses with one of his IV pumps for a moment. She introduces herself as Claire, and Blaine watches her with wide, wary eyes as she extracts a pad of paper from the counter, pulls a pen from her scrub pocket.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Anderson?” Claire offers Kurt an apologetic look before stealing Blaine’s hand away from him, anchoring the pen in his hand and pressing it against the paper. It takes Blaine a moment of fiddling with the pen before he moves his hand down, the letters shaky and childish. 

_Blaine_. Kurt stares at the paper, and Claire laughs.

“You want me to call you Blaine?” 

Blaine contorts his face in concentration, curls his fingers in until he’s giving her a thumbs up. Kurt chuckles, a warm flutter in his stomach at Blaine acting so… well, so like _Blaine._

“How are you feeling, Blaine?” 

The pen shakes in Blaine’s grip, and it takes him a while, his words almost illegible, but Kurt has read Blaine’s writing long enough to make out the jagged word.

“Awesome,” Kurt reads, when both Pam and Claire squint at the writing, a laugh bubbling inside of him. Kurt turns to Blaine and kisses his cheek, his skin dry against Kurt’s lips. 

“That’s good to hear,” Claire says, even though Kurt thinks Blaine looks like he feels anything but awesome. Dark circles still shadow his eyes, his skin too pale, lips cracked and dry. “Can you write down where you are?” 

Claire asks Blaine a few more questions, most of which Blaine answers correctly, and Kurt translates the words that are too shaky to make out. It’s a relief, to be able to communicate with Blaine, even though Kurt knows he still isn’t remotely healthy yet, at least his husband is still in there. He’s still fighting. 

_Kids?_ Blaine writes after Claire finishes asking him questions, his eyes already sinking to half lidded. 

“They’re at Rachel’s,” Kurt explains, Blaine’s gaze falling on him. “They’ve been in to see you and they miss you very much.” 

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, and Kurt almost thinks he’s fallen asleep before he opens them once more, fingers fumbling with the pen. 

_Out?_ He writes, his other hand motioning up to the ventilator tube. There isn’t a chance to answer before a cough shakes his body, his lungs heaving, a wet and awful rattling sound, his eyes watering until a tear slips down the side of his face. Kurt wipes it away with his thumb. 

“It should be soon,” Claire answers with a comforting smile. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but your labs and blood gases aren’t quite where we want them to be for you to breathe on your own yet.”

Kurt’s heard this over and over before, and he’s not quite sure if Blaine understands, but he gives a tiny nod, before letting his eyes slip shut once again. 

“I’m going to give you a little something to help you rest again, okay?” Claire says, and there’s a soft beeping as she presses buttons on an IV pump. 

“I’ll be right here with you.” Kurt presses another kiss to Blaine’s forehead, squeezes his fingers as tight as he dares. “I won’t leave you.” 

Blaine squeezes back before going still once more.

-

Another few days of this same routine pass before the doctors and respiratory therapists decide Blaine is strong enough to be extubated. It happens when Kurt is at work, and he can’t focus all day until he gets the call that everything went all right. Blaine should be okay for visitors in the evening. 

Kurt’s heart pounds in his chest as he walks into the hospital, Oliver on his hip and Ava holding his hand. They pause in the doorway, and Kurt sets Oliver down, squats down to be eye level with Ava. 

“Remember, Daddy is going to be very tired, okay? We need to be calm and give him some space.” 

Ava nods seriously, her hands wringing together nervously. Oliver sticks his fingers in his mouth, but Kurt doesn’t have the energy to chastise him. He kisses both of their foreheads, squeezes their shoulders before pushing to his feet and entering the room with a quick knock on the door. 

Pam is sitting next to Blaine’s bed, and Kurt can’t make out the figure behind her until she turns around, stands up to greet them. She wraps Kurt in a quick hug, and Kurt tries to return it, but his eyes are focused solely on Blaine. The head of the bed is inclined until he’s sitting at a forty-five degree angle, and an oxygen cannula snakes under his nose. He gives Kurt a small wave, and his face is shadowed with exhaustion but he still manages a smile. A smile and then a harsh barking cough, and Kurt pulls away from Pam, steps towards Blaine and lays a hand on his back. 

“Have some ice chips, honey,” Pam says from behind Kurt, and presses a Styrofoam cup into his hand. Blaine leans back in the bed and scoops up a few ice chips with a plastic spoon, and Blaine accepts them gratefully. He grimaces as he swallows and Kurt winces in sympathy, can only imagine how sore Blaine’s throat must be.

“Thank you,” Blaine whispers, his voice hoarse.

“It’s nice to see you awake,” Kurt says, wonders when the lump in his throat formed. 

“Daddy!” Oliver jumps up beside Kurt, his eyes wide and excited, and Blaine laughs, the sound scratchy and painful, but he reaches a hand down for Oliver to take. 

“Hey, monkey.” 

Kurt rests a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, a gentle reminder to take it easy. Ava steps up next, seems held back by a sudden shyness until Blaine smiles at her, pats the bed beside him.

“I missed you.” Ava’s voice is small, her gaze hesitating between Kurt and Blaine. Kurt nudges her up beside Blaine, and Blaine leans down to kiss the top of her head. 

“I missed you too.” He coughs again after that, and Kurt gives him another scoop of ice chips. Blaine works them over in his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and his head presses back against the pillows. He looks completely exhausted; today has been a big day for him, and Kurt doesn’t want to push him too hard. He directs Ava and Oliver to share a chair on the other side of the bed, sits on the edge of the bed beside Blaine. 

“How are you feeling?” Kurt asks, presses the back of his hand to Blaine’s forehead. Blaine’s skin is slightly clammy, and he leans into Kurt’s touch, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Dandy,” Blaine rasps, blinks his eyes back open. Kurt lets out a soft laugh, shakes his head and threads his fingers through Blaine’s.

“We’ve been so worried about you,” Pam says from where she’s taken a seat on the other side of the bed, next to the children. Blaine looks over at her and Kurt can tell he’s fading, the need to sleep pulling at his body. 

“I’m right here.” Blaine’s words come out as a whisper. “I’m here.” 

Tears prick at Kurt’s eyes and he can’t bring himself to meet Blaine’s gaze, instead stares at the hand in his. 

_I’m here._

_But for how long?_


End file.
